Blind Love
by StrawberryStoleYourCookie
Summary: Nyx is a shy girl, the daughter of the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny - as far as anyone knows. She is destined to befriend a ghost in a cemetery, unaware he used to play Angel for her mother, and he will twist her fate until they both know the truth.
1. Chapter 1

_**Blind Love**_

_Watch the sun, it paints an orange sky  
__Lay me down and feel the days gone by__  
__-Vanessa Carlton, Afterglow_

_Chapter 1_

Nyx took off her shoes and let her feet dance over the cold earth in the cemetery. She hoped no one came to visit a dead relative. She was hopelessly shy.

The sky was steadily turning orange as the sun set. The leaves on the trees matched – it was early October. She felt surrounded by the pretty, earthy color and she loved it. She could have danced in this light forever.

She stopped twirling to stare at a grave marker. It was so old the name had rubbed off.

She reached down and let her fingers graze over the grass and weeds that lay in front of the grave. "Hello," she whispered. "You've been all forgotten, haven't you? Is everyone who ever loved you dead? Are there any portraits that somebody hung so that those who never knew you could see? Do they even care?"

Nyx slipped down to her knees and pressed a hand to the gravestone. "How did you die? Were you killed? Executed? Did you simply slip away in you sleep? And did you leave a love behind? Or did you go to join a love in the afterlife?"

Nyx abruptly stood and began her dance once more. She'd been taking ballet lessons since she could walk. Her parents wanted her involved in the Opera.

She closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about life right now. She wanted to spend the rest of eternity dancing in this place, surrounded by the lifeless shells of forgotten minds and the burning sky and trees. Maybe if she died, this would be her eternity. She hoped so.

She didn't want to leave. The sun was setting but she didn't want to leave. She could feel it clawing at her chest – a frightening pain that could only be soothed if the sun were to stop, to freeze. She needed this moment to last forever.

She closed her eyes and continued to dance – and then promptly ran the back of her legs into a grave marker and fell right over it.

She landed on the ground and rolled immediately to get her legs off the gravestone where they landed. "Well, that was inelegant," she muttered to herself. She was certain the moment would be over as her legs and back pulsed in pain – but the sky and trees were still orange and the ground was still covered in crackling leaves and everything still felt magical.

She sat up and cursed from the pain. How on earth was she supposed to walk home now? She bit her lip and stared at a pile of leaves. It was awfully tempting…

But wouldn't her parents worry so?

She approached the leaves. Surely only a little rest wouldn't hurt. She lay down.

The leaves were far from comfortable but she felt at home in this nature – dead as it was. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the pain in her back. She didn't want to go home. She wanted to fall asleep soon, so she'd have an excuse not to return. It'd be an accident.

The night fell, and guilt tugged at her stomach, keeping her awake. She stared at the stars, and listened to the crickets chirp. The odd night sounds didn't scare her. She listened to the crickets chirping and didn't quite notice when she slipped into sleep.

**Author's Note: So, welcome to **_**Blind Love. **_**A few of you (very few, probably) may recall that I wrote a story with this same title a few years ago. This is a rewrite, and will be far better than I ever could have dreamed for the previous. The first time I wrote this story, I was young and it was creepy in a way I don't want to go over. I'm a much better writer now.  
This story is sort of an experiment for me. Whenever I see nature, be it in my backyard in the early morning, or in the mountains riding a horse, I get this really magical feeling. I just feel more alive, more at home like that. I'm trying to encapsulate that feeling of magic into this character with the way she looks at life and nature. I also hope to fully develop her character and Erik's character and Raoul's and Christine's in ways I never tried when I was young.  
I'm using Leroux Erik. He'll me awkward and childlike rather than dark.  
Finally, I'd like to attribute the image (I decided to try out this image thingy) to Guido Gerding, who licensed it under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license, which means I can use it so long as I tell who owns it.**

**Er, I apologize for the long author's note…Please review! It encourages me to update!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'd like to remind any readers that there are more kinds of love than just romantic and touching someone is not often sexual - you know this, right? If you're still having trouble accepting this, please take a look at the genre of this story. Thank you.**

_Chapter 2_

She was pretty.

Her skin was like porcelain.

She distinctly reminded him of a doll.

A little doll, lying on the leaves.

He wanted to touch.

Would her skin feel like glass?

His hands shook. How long had it been since he'd touched a girl? He left Christine… fourteen years ago?

It was the dead of night. Nobody would come to the cemetery. It was only he and a foolish child who fell asleep amid gravestones.

He approached.

She wasn't as pretty as he expected. She was very young, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Her long hair was messily splayed all over the place, and tangled with the leaves. Her lips were parted slightly, ugly because she bit them. A few dark freckles spotted her nose. Her skin was as pale as those who powdered their faces and she was thin in the way many girls desired but he sensed a sickness to it - he doubted a single woman envied her.

His eyes moved to her hands, curled up close to her neck. Her fingers were very long.

He slowly sat beside her and stared at the pretty specimen. Her skin glowed in the night. He let his fingers linger over mouth and feel her warm breath escape. As softly as he could, with the weight of a feather, he touched his hand to her cheek.

She didn't stir, but he shook so badly he had to remove himself. Part of him roared that she was forbidden. A child. A corpse had to right to touch a being just sprouting into life.

But another part of him whispered that he was Death. Was it not Death's right to take what it wanted? And who could deny him the pleasure of a pretty pet?

He cringed. Even if he were to touch her, he could not take her. He could not pick a flower and hide it in his vase at his home – for it would wilt, and quickly.

He wondered how deep of a sleeper she was.

He allowed himself the satisfaction of dipping his fingers into her hair. She did not wake. He ran his hands through her hair gently, savoring the feeling of the strands. He pulled the leaves out one by one.

She _was_ a deep sleeper. She made no indication that she felt him.

When he managed to remove the leaves and tangles, he braided her hair loosely – just the part he could reach without moving her head.  
He pulled away.

Pain shot through his body from his head to his fingertips, as though his blood was on fire. He needed her. He needed to keep the pretty girl in the cemetery. It was more than a want now – his loneliness was killing him. This child was the cure.

He forced himself backwards and stumbled along the ground. Everything in him screamed to take her.

He fled.


End file.
